Ashes of Adversity
by theangelCas
Summary: Sam Winchester is a hero, but he wasn't born that way. He was raised to be tough and brave, but he dreamed of being normal and independent. This is what made him who he is today. Companion piece to "Every Hero Has an Origin Story".
1. You Shouldn't Be Alone

_**This is a companion piece to my other work, **_**Every Hero Has an Origin Story****_. That was one of my favorite stories I've written, and now I'll be writing a similar piece but from Sam's perspective. _**

_**The thing about this story is that I really want to highlight the differences in how Sam and Dean were raised, to point out why they turned out so differently. So each chapter is titled with a "quote" that Sam was told, but Dean never was. Hopefully it makes more sense as you go along.**_

_**I will be updating every Wednesday, (with the exception of today, so I can get more feedback before the second chapter.)**_

_**Thank you so much for reading this! Enjoy!**_

_**November 1987**_

_**You Shouldn't Be Alone**_

Sammy never remembered a time before the fire. He didn't even remember much for a while after that.

His whole life was lived on the road, in the backseat of the Impala. Moving from apartment to apartment, motel to motel. He knew nothing else but that.

Daddy was always busy, but he didn't mind. Dean was always there, and would play with him, whenever. It wasn't strange to Sam, how Dean always took care of him. He thought that's just always what big brothers did- feed you, play with you, teach you how to read. He thought that was normal because that's all he ever knew.

His first vivid memory was when he was four, and he got sick.

"Deeeeaaan?"

Sam's usually small voice rang out from the bedroom. He heard Dean open the door, and the light came on, much too bright. "Yeah, buddy?"

"Deeeaan... (cough) I don't feel good..." Sam sniffled, poking his head out from under the covers. He felt real cold, his tummy was hurting, but mostly he had a bad cough.

"Let me see," Dean stood over him, pressing his hand against his forehead. Dean's hand felt warm to the touch, but Dean proclaimed that Sam was burning up. "I think you have a fever, Sammy. Uh... you need something to drink."

Sam curled up into a ball under the covers as he waited for Dean. He had total faith that Dean was going to make him feel better, not realizing that Dean had no idea what to do.

Dean came back, quickly, with a glass of mostly-warm tap water, which Sam refused. "Sam, you gotta drink it. It's good for you."

Sam shook his head. "Noo-(cough)-oo... i just wanna sleep..." Sam covered his face with the blanket once again, and heard Dean's exasperated sigh from the other side of it.

"Sammy, you won't be able to sleep like this." Sam felt Dean sit on the bed, and try to take the covers off of him.

"Deeaaan... where's daddy?"

"Sammy, I told you already. He's working."

"But I need medi-sthin." Sam whined. He couldn't understand why his dad was gone so much, especially when he needed him- like now.

Dean was quiet, thinking, for a few moments. "You're right, Sammy. I'll get you some medicine." Sam pulled the covers off to look at his brother. Dean looked a little bleak but determined. "Can you walk?"

Sam nodded. "Okay, here, wrap up in this blanket." Dean helped Sam stand, and Sam clutched onto the blanket. "Alright, you have shoes? Let's put some shoes on you."

Twenty minutes later, Sam stood outside a local drugstore, while Dean went inside. Sam wasn't sure what his brother planned to do, but he still sat outside, snuggling into his blanket and letting out a wet cough. It was cold outside, which only made it worse.

While he waited, a loud pick-up truck pulled into a nearby parking spot. A red-headed woman in a leather jacket and knee- high boots stepped out, locking the truck. She began walking up to the door, but stopped before going inside.

"Hello, there." The woman smiled kindly at Sam, who looked up and smiled weakly back. "What's your name?"

"Sam-" He answered right before coughing again.

"Are you okay? Are you sick?" Sam nodded. "Are your parents inside?" She asked, worriedly.

"No. (Cough) My brot-er is..." Sam glanced through the big glass doors, but he couldn't spot Dean. He wished he'd hurry up. He wasn't really allowed to talk to strangers, but the woman was pretty nice.

The woman knelt beside him, looking him over. She reached to touch his face, but Sam pulled away. "Why are you waiting outside?"

"Cause he told me to,"

The woman frowned. "You shouldn't be out here in the cold, hunny. Not all alone. Why don't you come inside? You can wait there."

Sam was about to protest, when the door swung open. "Dean!"

Dean immediately went to Sam's side. He stood Sam up, and puled him in close. The woman stood up and stared at him in surprise. "_Your_ his brother?"

"Yeah," Dean glanced down at Sam, who looked away.

"How old are you?" Her voice quickly changed from surprised to hostile.

"What's it matter to you?" Dean retorted, accusingly. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go home."

"Wait!" The woman called as they shuffled quickly away. "Where are your parents?" They ignored her, and left as quickly as possible.

"I told you not to talk to anybody, Sammy," Dean sighed as they walked home.

"Sorry, De- (cough) Dean. She just asked me some stuff," Sam let his head fall against Dean's side, and closed his eyes as his brother led him back to the motel.

"I know, Sammy..." Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair. "Look, Sammy. I got you some medicine." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of red cough syrup.

"You buyed that all by yourself?"

Dean shrugged. "Not exactly. Doesn't matter. But it's gonna make you feel better, and you can sleep, now."

Sam nodded. "Good. I'm tired..."

That night, Dean gave Sam a little of the syrup, which tasted gross. After he finally managed to swallow it, Dean lied down next to him. Sam curled up next to his big brother, laying his head against his chest. He fell asleep, listening to Dean play the _imagining_ game.

He woke up early in the morning the next day. He didn't feel all that good, but he wasn't coughing anymore. He crawled out of bed, noticing that Dean wasn't in the room anymore. "Dean?"

"Heya, Sammy." Sam was surprised to hear John's voice when he opened the bedroom door.

"Daddy!" Sam grinned, running over to his father. John smiled, picking Sam up in his arms. Sam wrapped his little arms around his father's neck, happy to have him home, again.

"How you feelin', kid? Your brother said you weren't feelin' so good." John pressed his hand against Sam's forehead, much like Dean had the night before. Sam smiled, shaking his dad's hand away.

"I feel better now, Dean got me medi-sthin."

"So I heard," John glanced over at his oldest, and Sam realized Dean was sitting on the couch. "Good job, Dean."

Dean glowed at his fathers praise, and Sam would later wish he had taken the time to appreciate that look, because he'd rarely see it again.

"_**Heroes are born out of the ashes o**__**f **__**adversity..." -**__**Reed B Markham**___


	2. It's Not Your Fault

_**Sorry I didn't update last week. I've been really sick and haven't been able to do much of anything. I should be back on track now, though. Enjoy!**_

_**I**__**t's Not Your Fault**_

_**September 1**__**9**__**88**_

Sam was in a lot of pain, and the bumpy sidewalk was not helping.

"What were you thinking, Sammy?" Dean scolded him, but his voice was full of worry. Dean looked more scared than Sam had ever seen him.

"You jumped too, and you were fine!" Sam argued.

John was gone on some hunt- Sam didn't bother keeping track of the details, anymore- but for once they had been pretty stable. They'd been in this town for almost 7 months, and they were renting a house. It wasn't permanent, but he figured it was as close as the Winchesters were ever going to get.

Dean and Sam were playing out back, near the shed.

Dean had tied a blanket around his neck to look like a cape, and was trying to get Sam to play the bad guy. Sam complained that Dean always got to be the good guy, and proclaimed himself to be Batman.

Sometime during the game, Dean had climbed up on the shed and jumped off in true superhero fashion.

Sam, not wanting his brother to upstage him, tried to do the same thing. Except when _he_ jumped, he hit the ground hard, landing on his _arm_. It wasn't pretty, and now he found himself on Dean's handlebars, clutching at his arm for dear life.

"That doesn't mean you should!" Dean retorted.

Eventually they made it to the hospital, where Dean frantically told the nurse what happened.

After a couple minutes, a doctor was able to look at Sam and take an x-ray. Meanwhile, he heard Dean trying to convince a nurse that their dad was at work, and couldn't be called right now.

Eventually Dean gave up and gave her their father's number. As expected, he didn't pick up.

The x-ray showed Sam what he had already guessed- he had fractured his arm right above the elbow. Without a parent there, the Doctor couldn't prescribe any medication, or even let the kid leave. He told them they would continue to try and reach their dad.

Dean, however, knew that was futile. He stole a prescription pad and snuck Sam out of there, cast and all.

"You're such an idiot, Sammy," Dean got Sam comfortable on the couch in front of the TV. He pushed up a pillow against him so he could lie his arm on it. A glass of water and a can of soda were placed on the coffee table, beside him. Sam could hear the hum of the microwave heating up soup for him.

Sam remembered back when he was little, and he thought Dean was his mom. Not technically, of course. Everyone else's mom was the same age as their dad, and a girl. But he figured Dean had taken the place of his mother as well as his brother. He did all the same stuff.

Now he knew better than that, but he couldn't help but feel it was still kinda true. Dean was a good caretaker, and even though he was calling Sam an idiot, he was also doing whatever he could to make sure he was safe and sound.

"I'm not an idiot. I just... I didn't know that would happen."

Dean smiled playfully. "You know Batman can't fly, don't ya? He'd have hit the ground just like you." Sam rolled his eyes, grabbing his soda. When he looked back to his brother, his expression had changed. "No, it's not your fault, Sammy. It's mine. I shouldn't have let you do that."

"No, Dean-"

"No, seriously, Sammy. It's fine. You're my responsibility, and i blew it. That's what I'll tell Dad when he gets back." The microwave beeped, and Dean got up to go get it.

"Dean, come on. Dad will be mad. I'll just tell him I tripped, or something."

"He'll be even more mad if he finds out we lied." Dean set the bowl, a spoon, and a napkin on the coffee table and sat beside Sam.

"He'll never know, Dean. Besides, by the time he gets back I'll probably be fine. You don't even have to tell him."

Sam was well aware of how this family dynamic went. As much as he protested, he was _Dean's_ responsibility. And John would be pissed that he let Sam get hurt. But Sam knew that it was his own fault, not Dean's. He didn't want his brother getting in trouble because of him.

Dean frowned. "Alright, Sammy. I won't mention it. How's it feel?"

"Its okay. But I won't be doing that again any time soon." Sam leaned his head on Deans chest. Dean let him lie there and turned the channel. Sam let the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest calm him.

As it turned out, John didn't get back for four more weeks. By then, Sam's arm felt mostly better, and he was able to easily hide the injury from his father.

He couldn't help but notice how _useless_ John could be to him. He was never there when he needed him. He wasn't there when he was upset and crying, or when he needed to be taken to the hospital, or nursed back to health. Dean always did that stuff for him, and Sam could handle the rest.

It made him feel independent. It made him feel like he could handle himself, and one day he could take care of himself completely. He didn't have to stay here. He could do whatever he wanted.

"_**Anyone who does anything to help a child in his life is a hero to me. " **__**―**__**Fred Rogers**___


	3. Your Mother Would Have Been Proud

_**Happy New Year! **_

_**Thank you so much for your reviews. I'm glad that people are taking an interest in this story. I don't know how many chapters there will be yet, but I hope there will be quite a few. **_

_**Remember, if you haven't read **_**Every Hero Has an Origin Story****_, you don't have to in order to read this story, but you certainly should. Enjoy!_**

_**January 1989**_

_**Your Mother Would Have Been Proud**_

John picked Sam up from school in the Impala.

Usually Dean would have been with him, but he had stayed home today because he wasn't feeling well. He didn't have a fever or anything, but he kept saying he felt like throwing up, so John let him stay.

Sam ran over to the big black car, and one of the teachers opened the door for him. "Thank you," Sam smiled, crawling into the front seat. "Daddy!"

"Heya, sport." John leaned over to ruffle Sam's hair, and drove off. John seemed a little off to Sam, but he couldn't figure out why. His movements were slow, and his speech slurred. Sam noticed two open bottles laying on the floor. They both smelled of alcohol, and now that he mentioned it, so did John. "How was school, today?"

"Good," Sam pulled his backpack close to him in the seat. He didn't like it when John drank. He wasn't himself. Sometimes he was extra nice, like he seemed to be now. Other times he yelled a lot. Either way, he'd rather just have his regular father.

John peered over at the boy. "Whatsa matter? You ain't talkin' much..." Sam just shook his head, and John moved on. "Your brother's at home. Brat said he was sick, but he don't look like it, much. He's been up and around all day. But I know he's excited to see you."

That made Sam smile. Dean was always excited to see him. He was the only person in the whole world who seemed to never tire of Sam- even though he knew he got on his nerves sometimes. But really, Sam never tired of Dean, either.

"You like school, huh?" Sam nodded. "Your brother never did. You know, you're mother would've been proud of you. She was just like you, always so smart..."

Sam's eyes widened. John never talked about his mother... ever. It was an unspoken rule in their household, that no one ever mentioned Mary around him. Sometimes, when Sam was curious, he would ask Dean about her. Dean never seemed to like talking about her either, but on occasion he would tell Sam about her.

She was beautiful, and smart, and kind. She was the perfect mother, and the perfect wife. She loved all of her family.

Sam missed her, sometimes. He didn't remember her at all, but whenever Dean talked about her, he felt like he could. Like somewhere, deep inside, he could recall his too few months with her.

"You think so?" Sam knew Dean always said stuff like that. He said that their mother loved him, and always would. But Dean was rarely honest with him, that much Sam knew already. He was always telling Sam what he wanted to hear. But if John was saying it...

"I do. I wish she could see you grow up..." John's voice trailed off in thought, and Sam didn't push it anymore.

It wasn't much longer before they were home, and he was telling Dean all about his day.

John told them to be quiet, so they stayed in their room and talked.

"When Daddy picked me up, he told me about Mommy." Sam whispered, sitting across the bed from Dean. He figured his brother would want to know about that, more than anything that happened at school.

Dean frowned, looking down at the covers. "He did? How come?"

"I don't know. He just... brought her up. He said she was really smart, like me."

"She was," Dean agreed, quickly. "And so are you... did he say anything else?"

Sam shrugged. "Not really. He said she's be proud of me."

Dean was silent for a moment, so much so that he started to worry he wasn't going to say anything. "She would have been..." He smiled down at Sam, but his eyes looked sad, and it made Sam worry. He didn't know why he would be upset.

Sam could rarely understand his brother. He tried to, sure, but Dean seemed to have built a wall around himself. Sam could always tell when something was bothering him- Dean's face always gave it away- but he could never figure out what.

If Dean didn't want Sam to know something, he did a real good job of keeping him at arm's length. He never opened up to Sam, never let himself be vulnerable with him. Sam wished he would, because he told Dean everything. So why didn't Dean trust him the same way?

Regardless, he figured they were just talking about their mother too much, so he changed the subject.

That night, Sam laid in bed, listening to Dean's even breaths. He tried to imagine his mother- what she looked like, what she sounded like- but he couldn't seem to get a clear picture in his mind.

_She would have been proud of you_...

He sure hoped so.

"_**Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy tale." -Peter S. Beagle**_


	4. Don't Waste It

_**Thank you for reading! Please review!**_

_**July 1992**_

_**Don't Waste It**_

Sam involuntarily jumped when the front door to the apartment was thrown open, probably hard enough to leave a whole in the drywall.

He was in the room he had shared with Dean with the door shut. Dean had been struggling over a homework assignment for over an hour now. Sam wanted to offer his help, but Dean hated it when he did. Sam guessed he was embarrassed to get help from his little brother, but Sam didn't mind. There was nothing wrong with asking for help.

Dean looked up when he, too, heard the door. He glanced over at Sam, who just shrugged. Dean grinned unnaturally. "Guess Dad's home. I'll go see him. You stay here and read, or whatever you _nerds_ do."

Sam used to love it when his father finally got home. He was gone so often, but when he got back he would always be so happy to see his boys. But it seemed that as time went on, that became less and less true.

Now it seemed that John would rather be out hunting, than be at home with him and Dean. And because of that, Sam had started to like it better when John _wasn't_ there.

"You _know_ you like reading, Dean. Don't lie to yourself." Sam laughed, dodging Dean's attempt to smack him upside the head. "Jerk!"

"Bitch." Dean winked and went to find their father.

Sam sighed, putting the book he was reading down on the floor. He crawled over to where Dean had discarded his homework. On the top of the paper, it read "Ms. Haynes Pre-Algebra HW."

Sam knew very little about algebra, but Dean also had left a copy of his messy notes.

He read through his notes while he waited for Dean to come back. He could hear John and him in the other room, although it was muffled through the walls. John sounded angry, and was saying something about a ghost.

Sam had known about hunting for less than a year now, and he hated it. Hunting was what kept his father away for so long. It was what made him terrified to close his eyes at night. If Dean wasn't there to comfort him, he'd never be able to sleep.

John said that hunting was important. He said that he was killing evil that deserved to die. That was his job. Dean said that he was saving innocent people. That was _his_ job. Sam didn't want that job. He wanted a _life_.

Sam ignored the commotion outside and focused on the algebra. He scribbled on the side of the paper, hoping Dean wouldn't mind him using his notes to practice himself.

Outside, he heard yelling. After ten minutes of reading, Sam figured he understood pretty well how to solve for X in a simple equation. He looked over at the homework assignment again. He went through, trying to fix Dean's answers and write his own.

Suddenly, there was a loud smash from the living room, followed by silence, and Sam froze. He laid Dean's things back where they were, and ran over to his book.

He had just gotten back into position, book in hand, sprawled out on the bed when the door to the room opened up. "Sammy?"

"Dad..." Sam could tell that his father was exhausted the moment he walked into the room. His eyes were droopy and dull, the corners of his mouth seemed forced up into a smile. He swayed a little when he walked and eventually settled for leaning against the door frame.

"How you doing, bud?"

"I'm just reading." Sam shrugged. "Are you okay?" He didn't look hurt, but for whatever reason, Winchesters were good at hiding those sorts of things.

His father nodded. "Yeah, Sammy, of course. It was just a long day at work."

Sam decided not to ask about the ghost. It didn't sound like it went well. "Where's Dean?"

John's expression didn't change. "He broke something out in the living room. He's just cleaning it up. He'll be back right after that."

Sam nodded, looking back down at his book.

"Well, I'm beat, kid. I'm gonna go relax on the couch. Ask your brother if you need anything, okay?"

"I will."

John left, and Dean came back a few minutes later. He didn't say anything, and didn't look at Sam. He just settled back down with his homework. "Uh, Sammy?"

"Yes?"

"Were you writing on my homework?"

Sam smiled weakly. "Um... yeah. Sorry."

Dean shook his head, slack-jawed. "No, no. It's not like you drew pictures on it- which you totally used to, by the way. You were doing the work." Dean got up and sat down next to Sam on the bed. "Did you actually understand this?"

Sam shrugged a little. "Some of it."

"Dude, you're like 4 grades behind me. You shouldn't be anywhere near this stuff yet."

"I just read through your notes." Sam explained. "I didn't mean to mess anything up."

Sam thought his brother was going to be upset, but he was just grinning. "No, dude, you didn't mess up anything! I'm just impressed. You gotta be like a genius or something."

Sam felt his face go red. He couldn't be a genius. He just understood Dean's notes, that's all. "Shut up," Sam smiled, pushing Dean away.

"Ow," Dean hissed, holding his shoulder, right above where Sam had pushed him.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sam had barely touched him. It shouldn't have hurt... "I didn't mean to-"

Dean shook his head. "No, no. It's okay, Sammy. My arm just hurts a little, that's all." Sam frowned, but his brother quickly changing the subject, "You know, you're really smart, Sam. Like, I always knew you were smart cause you've always learned stuff way quicker than I ever did... but you're seriously, like, gifted or whatever."

"Dean,"

"I'm just sayin', Sammy. You can't waste brains like that. You gotta use it, in school and stuff." Sam thought it was weird, how Dean's eyes lit up when he talked about it. Why would Dean care so much about Sam's school? Dean _hated_ school. "You could really do something, someday, Sammy."

"You mean something that's not what Dad does?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"But don't you like doing what Dad does?" Sam asked, innocently.

Dean frowned. "Yeah, I do... but just cause I like it, doesn't mean you have to."

They sat in silence for a while, but a comfortable one.

"_**As you get older it is harder to have heroes, but it is sort of necessary." -Ernest Hemingway **_


	5. Don't Worry About Dean

_**September 1994 **_

_**Don't Worry About Dean**_

Every time Dean left on a hunt, Sam couldn't sleep.

He'd thrash around in a bed much to big for just one person, and have nightmares about ghouls and ghosts and werewolves tearing his family apart.

Often, hunts lasted well into the night, and Sam had to spend these nights alone. It wasn't that he was scared to be alone- although he knew enough about monsters to be cautious- he was just scared for Dean.

He had only been on a few hunts, since his dad would rather have him back to research, but he knew the dangers that came with it. And he also knew that Dean, more often than not, came back hurt.

Sam couldn't even keep track of the split lips, broken bones, and concussions that Dean would stumble in with at two in the morning, with his father strolling in behind him, barely scratched.

John was just a better hunter, that's what Sam was told. He was more experienced. He knew when to fight, and when to fall back. Dean just didn't understand that yet, but he would. Sam knew that was no excuse.

Sam _begged_ to be brought on hunts. Not because he liked hunting- because he seriously didn't- he just wanted to be there as back-up. He wanted to be helpful. He wanted to be there to look after his big brother, like Dean had always looked after him.

But he rarely did. He was always stuck on research duty, hanging back at the hotel with nothing better to do than worry about Dean and John.

This particular night, Sam waited up while his father and brother were off on a Wendigo hunt. Sam sat on the couch, biting his nails, watching the clock tick by. 12am. 1am. 2am. 3am.

Finally, at four in the morning, when Sam was just starting to doze off on the sofa, the front door burst open.

Sam sat up, his stomach twisting. His mind raced with all the possibilities of what could have gone wrong, causing them to be so late. He prayed he would hear two sets of footsteps, not just one.

"Sammy?" Sam sighed with relief at the sound of his brother's hushed voice. "You awake in here?"

Sam got off the couch and ran to his brother. He felt like jumping in his arms or at least hugging him, but he held back. "Hey, Dean. How'd the hunt go?"

Dean shrugged. He was caked in dirt and mud, but he seemed relatively unhurt. _Thank god... _"We killed the sucker, that's for sure. And neither of us are dead, so I'd say it worked out pretty nicely."

"Where's Dad?"

"Getting some stuff out of the trunk. He'll be here in a minute. Shouldn't you be sleeping? You got school in the morning, don't ya?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah... but so do you."

Dean scoffed. "Whatever. I ain't going tomorrow. I'm beat. Come on, we should both really be sleeping."

Since John was home, Sam and Dean had to share the second queen mattress, but that was alright with Sam. John would lie in bed, fully clothed, with a beer in one hand, and a lore book in the other. Dean got cleaned up and changed into a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. He crawled into the bed beside Sam. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm good. Are you?"

"I'm fantastic." He was turned the other way, but Sam could still _hear_ the smile on Dean's face. "Night, Sammy."

Finally, with Dean beside him, there was just enough room on the bed. Sam was able to rest peacefully, knowing that his family, however small and dysfunctional, was safe and together, at least for the moment.

"_**Where once we aspired to be more like our heroes, today we try to make our heroes more like us. -James Rozoff **_


	6. You Deserve Better

_**December 1995**_

_**You Deserve Better**_

Dean rarely ever went out on solo hunts, and Sam honestly didn't understand why John let him go.

Sure, it was supposed to be a relatively easy gig- a spirit a few towns over. John said it was a "learning experience." But Sam had made it clear he though that was a total cop-out.

Dean should've only been gone for a max of four or five days, and it had already been a week. John assured Sam that he was going to be fine, that he was a big boy who could talk care of himself. But Sam still worried. And he knew he had every right to be. Who wouldn't be worried when their big brother went on a hunt, and hadn't been home in more than a few days? Hadn't even called?

Friday after school Sam raced back to the house they were currently renting, hoping that Dean would be waiting for him in the living room, with some stupid yet amazing story to explain his prolonged absence. But when the Impala was still missing from the garage, he knew his brother was still gone.

Sam stormed into the house, the only thing trumping his worry for Dean was his anger at John.

He found his father on the couch, the TV in front of him on low. John glanced up as his youngest walked into the room. "Heya, Sammy."

"Dean's not back, yet."

John nodded. "I noticed."

"He was only supposed to be gone for a few days."

"I know."

"He's been gone for a week."

"I know."

"He hasn't even called! He could be hurt! He could be dead!"

"Sam-"

He was screaming now. "You sent him there all by himself, Dad! While you just sit here doing nothing!"

"God damn it, Sam! I know!" John yelled back, making Sam flinch. "You don't think I know how dangerous all this is? You don't think I know what kind of danger Dean is in?"

Sam swallowed his fear enough to ask, "Then why did you send him?" John was silent. "You know he'll do whatever you say. You know he's not going to stop until he impresses you. So why did you send him?"

John looked away, and Sam noticed the beer bottles on the coffee table, and the smell of alcohol coming from his dad. He had been drinking, probably all day. He was worried, too. "I don't know, Sam..." He said, finally. "I thought... This is the only way he'll learn. He has to learn or he'll get himself killed."

"No he doesn't, Dad. He doesn't have to learn this. He doesn't have to hunt. None of us do!" Sam refused to accept his fathers excuse of revenge. For years now he's been told that they _have_ to hunt this thing down, because it killed his mother. But that was a lie. Mary was dead, regardless of whether or not they found the damn thing. They could have normal lives. He never knew his mother, but he was sure that this life was not what she would have wanted for them.

"You know why we have to, Sam." John glanced down at his ring- his wedding ring.

"What if something happens to Dean, huh?" Sam challenged, fully aware of what he was doing. He was trying to get his dad angry, now. He wanted him to feel how Sam felt right now. He wanted to yell, and argue, because it was the only thing keeping him from thinking about Dean. "Will it have been worth it? All these years of revenge, all these years of training. Would this _lesson_ that you're trying to teach him seem worth it then?"

Suddenly John was up and only inches away from Sam, his fingers grasped around his son's shirt. Sam wanted to pull away and shake him off, but he held his ground, glaring back at his father. "What, huh? What are you gonna do?" He was walking on thin ice, but even as he spoke, he could feel John's grip loosening.

"You should show me some respect, boy. He's gonna be fine, Sam. He'll be home soon, and he'll be fine."

John released him, but didn't back away. Sam took a moment to look the man over, but he couldn't decipher anything past _angry and drunk_. "We don't deserve this, Dad. We don't deserve this, and you _know it_." He didn't waste any time spinning around and heading for the room he shared with his brother. But before he could make it, his father spoke, softly.

"I know that, Sam. Both of you deserve better. And that's the difference between you and your brother. You know that, too."

Sam slammed the door to his room, and lied down on his bed. He had his own bed for once, so it was nice and neat and made. He positioned himself so he was staring at Deans bed across the room. The blanket was bunched up at the foot of the bed, and his book bag was stuffed between the wooden frame and the floor.

He had been trying not to think so much about Dean, but now that he had left John, all his paranoid thoughts came flooding back. Sam felt tears coming, but he did his best to keep them back. Instead, he slid to the floor, and crawled over to Deans bag. His brother wasn't the most studious, but the bag was still quite heavy.

He unzipped it, subconsciously looking for something to take with him until Dean came back. On the top of the bag was a bunch of crumbled papers from classes he spent doodling and passing notes. Mostly sketches of monsters.

He shoved them back in, and started to looked through the books. He had a couple of textbooks, all never opened of course. But surprisingly, there were also some library books.

There was everything from _Vonnegut_ to _Engineering: Basics_.

Sam glanced through the pages, and there were little notes written in Dean's handwriting, written right into the book. Apparently he wasn't too concerned with returning them.

Sam never knew Dean was interested in stuff like that. He had never mentioned it before. Hr had maintained that he hated school, and he hated books. And yet, here he was, reading and taking notes on all this stuff that Sam would even groan at.

There was really nothing in the book bag otherwise. He was about to throw it aside when he noticed a photograph tucked inside one of the textbooks. He pulled it out. It was a picture of Dean and some girl, both grinning. He turned it around for some kind of clue of when it was taken, but it simply read "Robin".

It wasn't unusual for Dean to have a girlfriend- he'd had _more_ than his fair share of girls. But never had he saved a picture of one. From the look of Dean, the photo had been taken maybe a year ago. The girl must have been pretty important to him, to save her picture this long.

Apparently, there was a whole side of Dean that Sam had never seen.

He stared at the picture for a little longer before carefully sliding it back into the bag. He shoved the bag beneath the bed, again, but he couldn't get the girls face out of his head. She was pretty, and Dean looked happy with her. He wondered if they broke up, or if they just had to move again. He wondered why Dean never complained about moving, when sometimes it meant leaving someone like that.

It was two more days of cold shoulders and awkward silences between John and Sam before they got a call from Dean. He was fine, of course. He just got carried away on the hunt. Of course.

Sam didn't mention to Dean about his fight with John. And he certainly didn't mention the picture of the girl. Dean deserved some secrets, too.

"_**A hero. Not the hero we deserved but the hero we needed. Nothing less than a knight. Shining."**__** - **__**Lt. James Gordon**_


	7. Don't Apologize

_**February 1996**_

_**Don't Apologize**_

"I hate you."

It was an awful thing to say, really, but he had said it to John so many times, he thought by now it had lost all real meaning. Yet, he had never said it to Dean, until now.

He regretted it, immediately. The hurt look on Dean's face broke Sam's heart. It wasn't even called for- it was a stupid argument.

Sam was just upset about moving, again, and Dean was trying to calm him down. It wasn't Dean's fault that they were leaving, that they _always_ left, but Sam was pissed with him nonetheless, because he was defending their father's decisions. "That town sucked, anyway, Sammy. You'll see, this one will be way better."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that so I'll shut up. Besides, we won't get to stay here long, either, before Dad moves us _again_."

Dean smiled, wrapping one arm around Sam's shoulders. "Oh, come on, Sammy. Don't be like that. You never know-"

"It's _Sam_." Sam insisted, throwing Deans arm off him. "You're just covering for Dad, and I'm sick of it. Just drop it."

"Sammy- I mean Sam- I ain't covering for anybody. If you could just get your head out of your ass-"

"Oh my God, Dean... just shut up."

"No, I'm serious! You're so _moody_ lately. I'm just tryin' to help you out." Dean stepped closer to Sam, but Sam wasn't in the mood.

"Don't touch me, Dean." He shoved his brother away.

"Hey! Come on, Sammy-"

Sam scoffed. "_Sam!_ God, I _hate_ you."

He mentally took it back as soon as he said it. He turned back to look at Dean.

Dean was no longer smiling, and a hurt look flashed briefly across his face. Sam wanted to say that he didn't really mean it, that the argument was stupid, anyway. But almost as fast as it appeared, the look was replaced with a more inscrutable one. "Whatever, Sam. I'll leave it."

Dean went past Sam, and grabbed the leather jacket that used to be John's. He gave it to Dean for his last birthday. Dean had been so excited.

"Wait, Dean... where you going?" Sam stood in place, feeling small and useless, now. Of course, as much as he loved his brother, Sam knew he was the only one that could hurt Dean that much. Other than maybe John.

"I'm gonna go check out the town. I'll be back." Dean didn't look as Sam as he headed to the door.

"By yourself?"

Dean exhaled. "Well, Dad's working, and you don't seem to care about this town, so... I guess it's just me, then."

Sam didn't get a chance to say anything else before the door slammed shut.

Sam was left to ponder his thoughts alone until his brother returned. He mentally kicked himself for being so reckless. Dean was a tough kid, at four years younger Sam would probably never be able to take him physically. But Sam seemed to have a way with words that could so easily tear right through his sibling. Sam knew he had to be careful with Dean.

Sam figured it went like this:

Dean protected Sam. He looked out for him. He made sure he had food and water and that he was safe. No one could deny Dean's role in their relationship.

But Sam knew he had a job, as well. Even if Dean wouldn't agree. He was there for Dean, emotionally. Whenever John was particularly hard on Dean, or if a hunt didn't go very well, Sam was there to make Dean feel better. Dean would never accept that, though, so Sam had to find away around his brother's tough exterior.

There was an unspoken rule between the boys, that whenever Sam was scared or upset, he could crawl into Dean's bed for the night. Neither would mention it, of course, (because, as their father said, real men don't need to be babied. They don't get scared. They _deal with shit_.)

Even though Dean would scoff at the notion, Sam knew that it made Dean feel better, just as it did Sam. So whenever Sam knew that Dean needed to feel that connection, to maybe feel a little less alone just for one nigh, he would pretend to have nightmares, and crawl into bed with Dean.

Because Dean needed someone, Sam knew that. But who could Dean turn to when it was Sam that had hurt him?

The answer was no one, and that's why Sam regretted his words so much. He had to make this right.

Dean was gone for a few hours, and when he came back he had seemed to have forgotten the whole thing. "Heya, Sammy. You hungry?" He placed a plastic bag from a Chinese food place on the table.

"Yeah... thanks." Sam slowly approached the table, keeping his gaze on Dean. "Look, Dean..."

"Don't worry about it, Sam. I get it. You don't have to apologize." Dean finally looked Sam in the eye, smiling weakly. Sam noticed Dean subconsciously playing with his amulet as he spoke.

"No, Dean, I do. I didn't mean it and I shouldn't have said it. It's just... I'm used to Dad-"

"I'm _not _Dad!" Deans sudden outburst came as a surprise to Sam. He sounded so much like John in that moment, he was actually scared. But Dean quickly recomposed himself and took a deep breath, uncurling his clenched fists. He spoke again, this time much calmer. "I'm not him, Sammy. I know you must think I am, or that I want to be... but I'm not, and I don't."

Dean looked so sad in that moment, that even if he wanted to, Sam couldn't find it in him to argue. "No, of course not, Dean. I didn't think that at all."

Dean nodded, dragging the bag over to him, and rummaged inside. "Good. Now how 'bout we have some of this delicious dinner I slaved over _all day_ before Dad gets home and eats it all?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah... Dad called while you were gone. He isn't getting back tonight."

Dean sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "Of course not."

Hoping to brighten the mood, Sam grabbed the bag, calling, "I call the remote!" as he ran to the TV.

"What? Nuh-uh, bitch!" Dean grinned, running after Sam.

"Jerk!"

"_**In our hyper-secular world, worship is still inevitable. But it is vital to remember that our gods don't choose us, we choose them." ―John Green **_


	8. Don't End Up Like Your Brother

_**Sorry! I know this was supposed to be up yesterday, but it was my grandmother's birthday and I got a bit distracted. Anyway, enjoy this next chapter! Please review!**_

_**November 1996**_

_**Don't End Up Like Your Brother**_

"You're a genius, Sam, you know that? When you grow up, you could be anything you want."

Sam never liked hunting, but he always just assumed that he would follow in his fathers footsteps and hunt for the rest of his life. It wasn't until this conversation with a middle school teacher that Sam realized he had _options._

This teacher was Mrs. Roberts, his 7th grade math teacher. She was middle-aged with straight blonde hair pulled into a bun. Sam loved her- she was smart, kind, and always took a special interest him.

"I'm not a genius..." Sam replied, awkwardly. Mrs. Roberts had pulled him aside after the last class of the day to talk to him.

"You're just being modest. Fine. Maybe not a _genius_, but definitely above average." She smiled softly, watching Sam shuffle around in front of her desk. "What do you want to do with your life, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. He thought back to what Dean had told him years ago, when he _also_ said Sam was a genius. His brother assured him he didn't _have_ to do what their dad did. And yet, since then, Dean had been pretty adamant about Sam becoming a better hunter. And John, well, John _expected _that from Sam. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. "

Mrs. Roberts nodded. "My husband teaches English at the high school across the street. He teaches your brother, actually. Dean Winchester _is_ your brother, right?"

"Yeah." Dean was a junior in high school, but Sam was beginning to think he wasn't actually going to graduate.

His brother had never really been interested in school. He always maintained that schools couldn't teach him how to hunt, and so they weren't teaching him anything important. Sam wasn't sure if Dean was just didn't think he was smart enough, or if he truly didn't think an education was worth anything to him. Either way, he was wrong.

"My husband says your brother's quite the troublemaker." She continued. "Shows up to class late, causes distractions. Flirts with the girls. That sound like him?"

Sam smiled, slightly. "Yeah, I guess so."

Mrs. Roberts didn't smile. "Let me be honest with you, Sam. If Dean doesn't pull his act together, and _fast_, he's going to end up in a bad place. And I don't want you to follow him there. I've seen it happen to way too many kids. You're better than that. You're too smart and too hardworking to end up like your brother."

Sam suddenly felt very defensive of Dean. She didn't know _anything_ about his big brother. He wasn't just some dumb kid who was never going anywhere in his life. He was a _hero_. He devoted his life to saving people. He had done more in his 17 years than _she_ had done in her 50. Maybe he wasn't a star student, but he was so much more than that. More than Sam. "No disrespect Mrs. Roberts, but I would be _proud_ to end up like my brother. You don't know anything about him."

"I never said Dean wasn't a good person, Sam. I'm sure he is a great brother. But what is he going to do when he graduates? If he ever does. He's got no plan, and nowhere to go. You think your parents want him to rely on them forever?"

"My brother works with my dad. He'll be fine." But even as he said it, he didn't really believe it. Sure, for right now John needed Dean. He'd probably want Dean to stick around even after he leaves school. But what happens after all of this is over? What happens when his dad doesn't need Dean anymore?

"Look, Sam, you're still young. You have plenty of time left to figure out what you want to do. Just promise me you're going to try."

Sam promised, and Mrs. Roberts sent him off. Dean was waiting outside, leaning against the Impala. _Dean loves that car,_ Sam thought. _And he takes care of it. Maybe he could be a mechanic... do you need to graduate to be a mechanic?_ "Heya, Sammy!" He called as Sam approached.

"Hey,"

"What took you so long? I've been waiting here for like 10 minutes." They both climbed into the car.

_Maybe he could work with kids. He's always looked out for me. He'd be great at that._

"I was just talking to the teacher."

"Pssh. Nerd."

Nobody talked on the way home, but Dean was blasting music so it didn't really matter. Sam spent the whole time mulling over what his teacher had said. He imagined himself as a CEO, or a lawyer, or a doctor, making tons of money. He'd have a huge house and a family. He imagined having a little guest house that Dean could live in if he wanted. He wouldn't have to work if he didn't want to, but maybe he could still hunt, with Sam's house as his base of operations, like Bobby.

He figured maybe his teacher was right. Maybe he _should_ start considering his future, because hunting wasn't his only option, anymore. He could do _anything_.

"_**A hero is a man who does what he can." -Romain Rolland**_


End file.
